


Each Breath a Waste

by unsettled



Category: Body of Lies (2008)
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They've found Roger; they've found him, only the rage is curling up around the edges, is turning dead and leaden.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Breath a Waste

_I shudder to think if we'd been a few moment's later…_

"What do you mean, he's not here?"

Everything had pointed to Roger being held here, here in _this_ room, no other, but he's not here – not here, but somewhere, he must be somewhere close, and they _will_ pay for incompetence; if things go terribly wrong because of this there will be blood on his hands.

They burst into another room, and another, and another, and finally, finally, there's a room with a flag on the wall and a camera on the floor and a group of men gathered around a table. They look up, startled; there's blood on their hands.

There's a rage bubbling up inside Hani at the sight of them, that won't allow for a breath, much less words. They step aside, are taken down, and while he should regret the loss of information within each mind – he only can see one thing right now.

Because they've found Roger; they've found him, only the rage is curling up around the edges, is turning dead and leaden. It's too late, it's, it's- He's alive, but Hani knows he won't be so for long; there's too much of his insides slick and gleaming and displaced, too much blood, too little he can do. He moves forward, feeling his calm cracking, falling behind him with each step.

"Hani pas-" Roger breathes out; can't finish the honorific around the red froth that accompanies it. "…knew you'd…"

Hani never feels helpless in these situations, doesn't turn away at the sight of horrors, and yet this, he is nearly undone by. He rests a hand on Roger's chest, feels the blood bubble against his hand, thick and tacky. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Roger smiles, the barest twitch of lips, and Hani's taken right back to the first time he saw Roger smile – it can't be less than a few weeks, can't be that short of a time – saw him and thought that someone was sending him good fortune. Thought it, and had it confirmed when Roger handed him intelligence neatly wrapped up, hands brushing a little too closely to be casual, those pale eyes guileless, hopeful.

There's nothing but empty space behind those eyes now, and Hani lifts his hand from the motionless ruin of a chest, raises it before his eyes. It's vividly painted with guilt; he wipes the obvious stain off with a handkerchief. Folds it up neatly and tucks it back in his pocket. Turns away.

There's nothing of importance left here.


End file.
